Page 168 of Two-Step
“Without you to share them, all those victories are hollow.” And then I say the thing that nearly kills me. “But if you’re going to walk away from me again and disappear from my life, I need you to do it right now. Right now. Not tomorrow. Or Monday. Or even five minutes from now.”
Beau’s eyes narrow, but not before they sear me with heat. “I’m not going anywhere.”
And then his mouth is on mine.
None of my reunion fantasy kisses even comes close. This kiss is fevered and feral. It’s as wild and as alive as anything I’ve seen on the AT. It’s more mystical and spell-binding than any magic Raven Blackwell performed. It’s stormier than Hurricane Addie.
It feels like I could float up to the ceiling. To make sure I don’t, I grab Beau by the collar and tug him on top of me.
His familiar weight chases a sob from my chest. The relief of it is too much. My eyes leak. My lungs burn. Still I kiss him.
“Iris, my love, I’m not going anywhere,” Beau promises, stamping kisses along my jaw. Down my neck. I know he’ll have to leave at some point, but maybe this means we’ll figure out the long-distance thing. We can make it work. If he wants this, we’ll make it work.
He’s wearing one of his button-downs, and I love and hate it at the same time. I want to rip it off him, but the backpack doesn’t look very full. It might be his only shirt. And if he’s staying the weekend, he might need to wear more than rags.
But then again…
I suppress the urge to tear the shirt from him and work on the buttons instead, all while Beau demonstrates his superior presence of mind and pops off my running shoes before attempting to peel off my tights. It’s about as graceful as peeling off running tights can be. But when they’re gone, they’re gone. My bare ass meets the upholstery of my new couch.
And then my presence of mind kicks in. “Bedroom,” I pant.
Beau needs no other words. I appreciate his excellent listening skills and his upper body strength as he cups my ass. I lock my legs around his waist, and he carries me across the house.
“Left,” I say between kisses as we enter the hall. He takes us left, and we collide with the bed.
I’ve exiled the shirt, and I’m making haste with his belt when I have to abandon the task while Beau frees me from my sports top.
Assisting a horse’s birth might be easier than getting the second skin of spandex and Lycra over my head and shoulders, but Beau powers through like a champ.
“Bravo,” I gasp, taking in a full breath, which I promptly lose when Beau stands and strips off his jeans.
He stands, naked and motionless, his molten eyes taking in the whole of me. I let him look, savoring my own view, burning the image in my mind for the days we’ll surely be apart.
“I’ve missed you.” I manage though my throat has gone tight.
He plants a knee on the bed and crawls up my body. “I’ve missed you, too.” He kisses me just above my navel. Then once on each breast, making my nipples peak with the heat of his mouth. Then he levers himself until he is a breath away, his lips hovering above mine.
“I’ve missed you.More than you could imagine.”
My eyes sting. I place my hands on his chest, feel the steady beat of his heart. He gives me his weight, and I thrill at it. I run my hands along his ribs and then up over his smooth, warm back. He feels amazing. I need to drink in every sensation. Lock it away in my heart for all the nights when he’s back home.
“Can we stay just like this? For as long as you’re here?”
He blinks down at me, a startled smile creasing the corners of his eyes. “It might be kind of awkward when I start my new job next week.”
Time stops.
When it starts running again, I’m sure I’ve misunderstood. “Your new job.” I parrot. “What new job?”
Grinning, Beau takes his weight on his elbow, stretching out beside me. His hot erection presses into the side of my hip, but he wraps his leg over me as if to blanket me in warmth. He settles a hand between my breasts, over my racing heart.
“I told you I wasn’t going anywhere,” he says, watching me with that smile.
“What new job?” I ask again, my heart speeding faster.
He licks his lips. “The one where I’m a private French immersion teacher for two hellish sounding boys, age six and eight, who are the children of some film executive I’ve never heard of but is apparentlyinsperiuse.”
I blink. “And where do this exec and his hellish children live?”
